


Bones

by kunstaeilation



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Dysfunctional Relationships, Jealousy, M/M, Mild Gore, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-03
Updated: 2019-09-03
Packaged: 2020-10-06 01:47:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20498867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kunstaeilation/pseuds/kunstaeilation
Summary: "Can you help me hide the bones?" he asks as he lays under his arms.





	Bones

**Author's Note:**

> i made this in the spirit of halloween.

It’s 11 PM at night, but the party is only just getting started. Sweaty bodies press up against Mark as he leans over the wooden counter shouting his order at the bartender. The bartender holds up eight fingers and Mark nods, seeing streaks of cyan and warm yellow coming from the bar lights as he straights back up. The mix of raucous chatter over scratchy bass is a dance that buzzes in his head as his first two drinks quickly ease its way past his empty stomach. They have him feeling good as they hold of his senses and pull them down into a euphoric slog.

A whiff of body odor beneath musky cologne here, an all too cloying perfume there, acrid booze on hot breath as someone chuckles a few inches away from him; men with their wrinkled dress shirts and baggy jeans, women with plunging necklines and short skirts that leave nothing to the imagination—Mark can see it all just like he can smell it. The crowd reeks of a clumsy loneliness that seeps past their ill-fitted façade as they seek for a home for their weary hearts.

Five minutes later, he has a drink in his hand—a liquid amber that forces him to pause mid-step and take a few sips before moving on. The corroding fizz of coke dances on his tongue, its sharp sweetness a perfect counter to the fragrant bitter spice of rum. He scans the crowd as he takes another sip staring at all the hopeful desolate faces, but it’s not these gloomy people that Mark seeks. He wants one of _them_, one of those captivating wanderers who stroll into this dumpster of a bar without a single care in the world. That’s when Mark sees him.

He’s standing there across the room, sun-kissed skin flickering in and out between the ever-moving mass of bodies and for a moment, the deafening crowd falls mute and Mark gets a good look at the stranger’s face. Small, delicate—almost angelic if not for a ferocity lingering in those gentle eyes. Instantly, Mark’s hooked and he tips his head back draining the rest of his glass as he continues eyeing the boy. Unlike the rest of the haggard patrons here, the stranger is full of youth and vigor just like Mark is, but this boy is different from Mark. He holds a certain allure, a certain danger that draws in attention from those around them, but that’s all the crowd does: look. This boy is much too bright for them and they know it. It doesn’t help that there’s someone else who’s staked a claim—an older lady in a classy maroon dress that hugs her body in all the right places. She’s gorgeous and she knows it; the faint wrinkles on her face don’t even come close to revealing her true age. Mark doesn’t care though. He knows what he wants and what he wants is the other boy, lady be damned.

Wordlessly, he weaves between the bodies getting jostled this way and that as drunken limbs flail to the rumble of bass. Someone shouts an apology after him, but Mark can barely hear it; his focus is too glued on the stranger to care. He can feel it, feel a change crawling along his skin and leaving goosebumps in its wake, feel a stir dep down inside his bones leaving him parched and wanting. It’s a primal urge that propels each and every step he takes, an instinct, an impulse. As he gets closer, the boy takes notice and his gaze sears itself into Mark’s even as the stranger continues speaking with the woman. She too takes heed of Mark, instantly registering the threat he poses and angling her body while resting a hand on the boy’s chest, but it’s too late. Mark’s won and he knows it from the way those bright eyes drip with desire.

The lady clicks her tongue, but she leaves without a single word and her head held high. She might’ve lost her prey for the night but with looks like that, Mark knows she’ll have no trouble finding another. This stranger on the other hand—he’s a sight to behold, far more beautiful up close than the glimpses Mark had caught as he made his way over. He has a simple plain dress shirt on like all the other men around here but unlike them, this boy is absolutely divine. It’s a loose-fitting alabaster cotton, wrinkle-free with the top few buttons undone and teasing that tantalizing golden brown that hides beneath. But the thing that_ really_ makes the gorgeous picture and the thing that Mark remembers years later is how the boy smells: a heady cedar with a touch of amber and rose. Masculine yet with the slightest hint of daintiness that perfectly matches the wild contrast between his gentle looks and relentless stare.

The boy inclines his head just as Mark pauses a foot in front of him, those warm ashy blond bangs falling into that sweet face of his as a corner of those small lips tug up in the slightest of greetings. It’s clear that he knows what Mark wants and from the way those hungry chocolatey eyes burn a trail up and down Mark’s skin, this boy wants the exact same thing.

“Hey,” Mark swallows and licks his lips, tasting the lingering sweetness on it. It’s a single, lousy word—one Mark’s heard hundreds of times before from others and one he’s said himself a handful of times before, all of them resulting in a night of disappointing conversation and even more disappointing sex. But with liquid luck lining his stomach, Mark’s voice pitches down and he doesn’t miss the way the stranger’s eyes narrow and darken as they flick down to his neck nor how those small lips briefly part into an obscene sight that Mark would soon see again tonight.

The stranger shifts in his spot, eyes dragging back up to Mark’s. “Hi,” he replies. It’s a syrupy sweet sound, a liquid honey that slithers down Mark’s spine. Combine it with that unwavering gaze and that desire blazing deep within drives Mark insane. He takes a step towards the boy and shrinks the already narrow gap between them, his vision flickering from a mix of his heart competing with sluggishness. It’s then that he notices a series of deep brown-black flecks scattered across one side of the boy’s face and neck, little splotches of color that has Mark’s fingers twitching as he wonders how the stranger would look beneath him, his lips tracing along the path those dots make.

“What’s your name?” It’s the boy who makes the move first, a glint and a smirk peeking through an otherwise perfect face of boredom. But Mark already knows him and sees past that guise even though they’ve only just met. He knows that what the stranger seeks is an excitement, a thrill and he knows that the boy sees it in him.

“Mark,” he huskily replies, ignoring the sirens going off in his mind.

“Mark, huh?” the stranger tries the name out, a flash of pale pink darting out between cherry red as he licks at his lips. “I’m Haechan,” he steps towards Mark and before he knows it, Haechan’s arms are tightly wrapped around his shoulders as he pulls him in for a kiss. Haechan tastes like danger and everything that’s bad for him, but the boy scratches a gnawing itch that leaves Mark wanting more the moment their lips part. Just like that, Mark’s addicted.

The next few months are a flurry of activity with Haechan taking up every single minute of free time Mark has. Mornings, evenings—even the brief twenty minutes during his lunch break at work, not even a month after they first met. It’s no surprise that they move in together soon after. The apartment they choose is a tiny one in a dilapidated part of downtown. At almost every other hour, there’s some sort of noise going on whether it’s the wailing of a child or furious shouting and slamming of doors. It’s sweltering hot in the afternoons and bone-chilling at night and the hot water runs out at random points of the day, but it’s a home of sorts. Haechan’s here and Mark’s perfectly happy.

These days, however, there’s something new, something different. Instead of greeting Mark home from work with a kiss and a hug as usual, Haechan’s on the phone. Mark doesn’t think too much about it at first—not when Haechan ends each call as soon as he spots him with a cheery little grin and the sweetest smile on those dainty lips, wrapping an arm around Mark’s waist and yanking him in for a kiss. It’s different, this kind of kiss. It’s fevered and frantic like Haechan’s been thinking about him all day long. They don’t bother stripping themselves naked, not when there’s an urge like this. All there is is hands, lips, and teeth before Mark’s engulfed in tight heat and Haechan’s moaning his name out.

As the weeks go on, those hands and lips grow impassioned and they fuck even more than before. Once, twice, occasionally thrice in a day when Haechan is utterly insatiable and needy, but there’s giggling on the phone now. Unusual giggling. Every now and then, Mark would come home and there Haechan would be, giggling away, or he’d pass by their bedroom instead, ear straining as he tried to make out hushed words through the closed door but all there is are giggles. Always giggles. What’s worse is that something tells him it’s not the kind of giggling he’d expect to hear from walking in in the middle of Haechan hearing some story of a raunchy escapade from a friend. No. This is the same kind of giggle that Mark was more than familiar with—the breathy laughter, the twinkle in those bright eyes, a sweet smile on that delicate face. The look of someone freshly in love. That’s how it starts—the jealousy, the suspicion.

It’s an easy-going question the first time Mark asks him. “Who were you talking to?” he asks as soon as Haechan hangs up, trying to keep his voice light-hearted and his face free of doubt, but it doesn’t work. Haechan knows him too well. As soon as the words leave his lips, Mark sees that glint, that spark of something dangerous in those topaz eyes just like the very first time they met—the thing that drew him in like a moth to a flame.

“No one special,” is the only reply Mark gets before Haechan is pressing up against him with a thigh slipped between Mark’s legs, those splotches of black-brown on golden skin an all too tempting treat for Mark to resist. It’s always like that, always the same thing, always the same reply, always that body pressed pressing up against him shoving the suspicions away, but they don’t disappear. The doubts sit there at the back of Mark’s mind as he bruises that sun-kissed skin purple and blue with his lips, telling Haechan all he needs to know with each new addition. _I claim you_, he nips and bites. _I crave you_, he thrusts and fucks. Day after day, they repeat their tango over and over again until that day. That day Mark comes home.

Just like any other evening Mark’s trudging up the apartment stairs late at night after work, carpeted stairs protesting every step he takes. Each footstep takes him closer to home, but his body is sore and weary from the beating the day’s labor has caused. _Creak_. His thighs burn and itch from the effort and he feels a dull throb of a headache beginning to take shape. _Creak_. A bead of sweat trickles down the side of his face, a combination of the torrid evening and the long walk from the bus stop home quickly turning him into a sweaty mess. _Creak_. There’s a baby wailing somewhere on the floor below them and there’s that repetitive creaking of box spring as a couple fucks above. _Creak_. Finally, his floor, just as quiet as it can be for a Friday night.

He shoves a hand into his pocket, keys a hollow jangle reverberating down the hall as he fishes them out. Mark can’t wait to see Haechan and collapse against him—to let go of the day’s stress as those small hands of his knead at his shoulders. But then he sticks the key in and turns the knob and there, right fucking there on the couch in front of him is Haechan on his back, his legs spread out in front of him, moaning as a strange man fucks him.

Everything falls deadly silent except for the sticky slap of skin on skin and the wanton moans rolling off those lovely lips. There’s a ringing in Mark’s ears, a hot white impulse and then _bang_. A spray of crimson across the walls and the wet thud of gooey chunks.

The sound of the gun echoes through the paper-thin walls, but Mark could care less about what their neighbors think about it. He has a craving, a desire, a goddamn fucking _claim_ to Haechan from the moment he laid his eyes on him that night at the bar. The boy scratches an itch for him, gives him a kind of high no one else does, fuels him with a kind of vigor that he can never reach by himself. Haechan is his and his alone and that’s something the neighbors understand. That’s why that baby’s still wailing. That’s why that couple is still busy fucking upstairs. They have their addictions and Haechan is his.

“Can you help me hide the bones?” Haechan breaks the silence, his angelic voice a muffled whisper beneath the limp body. Mark nods, but Haechan can barely see him over the shoulder. With a grunt and a heave, he shoves at the corpse but it barely budges so he tries again, waving Mark off as he makes a move to help.

“Everything’s fine,” Mark hears him grunt out. “Grab a couple of shovels—it’s a date tonight.” The body finally flops over and slides off the couch in a trail of gushing apple red and Haechan sits up, a grin and a glint on his face and that sun-kissed skin covered in sticky red. “Get some paper towels for the blood and a bag too. We’re gonna bury the bones,” he swipes at his face, inspecting a fleshy chunk in his hands. 

When Mark doesn’t move, Haechan finally looks up at him, those wild eyes sparkling with a dangerous delight through the smear of ruby. “What’s this? You upset with me?” he pouts. “I’m sorry. I just couldn’t help myself, but I know you love me anyway, don’t you?” It’s the same honey-like voice as always, the same sugary sound that summons Mark forward and has him sinking down to his knees in front of Haechan, warm fluid quickly seeping through the cotton of his pants.

“I know you,” Haechan softly continues, delight turned sweet and loving as reaches out to Mark with a tacky hand, “I know your soul.” It’s cold and disgusting and it smells of copper and iron, but Mark couldn’t care—doesn’t care when it comes to Haechan. He needs him. He wants him. A bit of blood is nothing compared. “You’ve got a devil inside,” that syrupy voice is a whisper in Mark’s ear sinking down his body and has him twitching with a certain desire. “I’m just bringing it home.”

With that, it’s lips on lips and slimy hands coating his hair as Haechan yanks him in as close as possible. That mouth is a silent plea, a demand, a claim of ownership over Mark—all of that in a single kiss that has Mark light-headed and dizzy, a groan rolling off his lips at the sheer force of it all. When they part, his pants are soaked from the knees down to his ankles and the gushing has slowed down to a trickle. The wailing and squeak of box spring has long since stopped replaced by murmurs of comfort and whispers of adoration while the cherry red liquid grows darker by the minute. Mark sticks a finger into it and holds it up to his face, watching a tantalizing droplet dribble down the side of his hand before dripping onto the floor. Curious, he puts it to his tongue tasting the metallic tang as a pair of topaz eyes burn into him.

Haechan pauses at the pomegranate coated fingers held up in front of him and pulls it close, closing his eyes as he takes a lick. “Why?” he quietly asks.

Mark shrugs at him, grasping that delicate face in his hand. “You’re everything that I want and I know you’re bad for me, but I’m an addict and I’ve got a love for what I don’t need.”

**Author's Note:**

> inspiration: [kai straw - bones](https://open.spotify.com/track/74vN0FYoTRBziK27xbPicd) ([yt](https://youtu.be/nUb861uUMLw))
> 
> so this is <strike>a little bit</strike> a lot different. i've been wanting to write this out since forever, ever since i first heard that song so here it is finally. if the writing seems weird/different, well, just take a look at the song lyrics and you'll see.
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/kunstaeilation) | [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/kunstaeilation)


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